The Belle, Rylee [book club reads TXT] 📗

June 14, 1887
Boston, Massachusetts

I loathe the summer. The heat is most unbecoming to all it touches. The bees whizzing around are interesting to watch, I suppose. But the wasps and flies are quite annoying when one must sit still for a portrait.
Another thing I hated was doing portraits. I must admit some did look wonderful once they were completed and hung, but the very idea of sitting for hours at a time for weeks on end made me shudder. I seemed to always be in motion, ever since I could walk.
Usually, Father would humor me, and I wouldn’t have to do a portrait. But seeing as I was coming of age, Mother convinced him to make me do one. It would be sent to my fiancé, whom I had never met.
I had only heard of this arrangement a year ago, though the wedding was decided even before my first birthday. Arranged marriages were common, but I never would have guessed my parents would do that to me, their only daughter. I was wrong.
All I know about my fiancé was that he’s from a rich family, an only child, and nearly three years older than me. He was probably spoiled and rude and absolutely horrid. I imagin him as short and fat and bald with fake teeth. And I still have to marry him no matter what. Only both of our deaths would stop the marriage, and maybe not even that.
Oh, I have to go. The painter just got here. I have to sit in the garden for two hours today. At least the flowers are pretty. And it’s cool right now, so not many bugs will be out.

June 15, 1887
Boston, Massachusetts

I was wrong. There were plenty of mosquitos out in the garden. It was absolutely horrid yesterday sitting out there. But there is some good news. Mr. Williams, the portraitist, says that he only needs one more sitting to finish that vile painting.
Of course, there is also bad news. My family was wealthy, and enjoyed hosting many balls. That’s usual. Mother has been throwing masquerades since I was three. But there’s one coming up—in two weeks. And Mother is inviting my fiancé to come to it.
Not only will I finally meet the man that ruined my life, but our wedding has been rescheduled…to a month and a half. My life is about to end. And I thought all the sittings for the portrait were horrid!
I have to go. Mother wants me to help her prepare for that accursed ball. She seems so excited to send me to my absolute doom. Maybe she doesn’t realize how horrid this all is. She must not have had an arranged marriage.


June 16, 1887
Boston, Massachusetts

Today is the final sitting. After that, Mother and I are going to “as many bakers as it takes to find the perfect cake”. Those are Mother’s exact words. If we find that cake, then we get to find the perfect costume for me. And then, maybe fabric for my wedding dress. Mother says we can’t just BUY a wedding dress; the maids must make it.
Personally, I don’t care about the wedding dress, or even the ball. I just want to weep like a little child. But I am not a child. I am fifteen, and must act my age. I cannot weep.
I must go. Mother is calling me. Mr. Williams must be here. Today is the last day I must wear this revolting dress. It’s a wonderful cut, I must admit, but it’s a pink color. I dislike pink very, very much

Publication Date: 07-24-2012

All Rights Reserved